We're All Hitmen Here
by aTreeCat
Summary: Yamamoto's latest mission (ostensibly): to join Class 3-E as their home economics teacher. Shenanigans ensue.
1. 80E Time

We're all Hitmen Here

 _Chapter 1: 80E Time_

Special thanks to **codedredalert** for casually betaing this chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own KHR nor do I own AC. They belong to Amano Akira and Matsui Yuusei respectively.

* * *

 **MS-ASN-09060314**

 **MISSION BRIEF**

TARGET:  
[picture] 'Koro-sensei' (early 30s?) - pg 2-3

NOTABLE ASSOCIATES:  
[picture] Karasuma, Tadaomi (28) - pg 4  
[picture] Jelavic, Irina (20) - pg 5  
[picture] Kunugigaoka Middle School Class 3-E - pg 6-8

PRIMARY MISSION OBJECTIVE: Assassinate 'Koro-sensei' - pg 9  
SECONDARY OBJECTIVE(S): Prevent destruction of world. Investigate human experimentation rumors. Keep children from mafia. - pg 9  
LOCATION: 35.42314°N, 139.159265°E (Kunugigaoka Middle School; Kunugigaoka, Japan) - pg 10  
DEADLINE: March 13th  
REWARD: 10 billion yen

COVER: Yamato Takashi. Home Economics teacher. (NOTICE: May be known as _a_ Vongola man by associates.) - pg 11

OTHER NOTES: Lucky bastard.

BOSS'S NOTES: Hey Yamamoto, here's a new mission for you! I'd like to have given you another month, but this one sounded right up your alley and you, me, and your dad would all agree that life goes on, right? It's not a forthright assassination, so no need for 'Ghost' this time. I'll send you over on the 5th, so you may want to see Haru to brush up your sewing in the meantime (but I know your cooking's as yummy as always, ne 'Yamashiro-san'?) Your target this time may be our biggest fish—er, sea, but not really sea, creature human octopus argh, you get it—yet :) But for some reason, despite how this 'Koro-sensei' says he's gonna destroy the world and stuff, my HypInt is telling me that he doesn't really mean what he says, not like Byakuran (hmm ~_~). But hey, who would've thought the next big threat to universal existence would come in the form of a slimy yellow octopus, ne?

About that, be sure to follow rumors on human experimentation—I mean, how else could such a creature appear? (well, Gokudera's still convinced he's an UMA, so he's kinda jealous you get this mission ;P) Hmm, 10 bil yen, that would be handy for business dealings—cross that—reparations. (and no, I'm not avoiding paperwork to write you this overly detailed note, (ok maybe I am) but shh, don't tell Reborn) (I need coffee—and sleep. sleep would be nice) And don't forget to report back! (remember to charge your phone!)

Best of luck and stay safe!

SIGNED: [Tsunayoshi Sawada]  
DATE: June 3rd

* * *

A preemptive strike, Karma called it. If their new sensei couldn't dodge a knife thrown by a measly middle schooler, he didn't have the right to be their teacher.

And really? Isogai couldn't disagree, with the ideology at least. But then again, he didn't have any better methodologies either—only to wait and let the sensei prove himself in due time, but Karma would have dismissed that as too wussy.

Still, if anyone asked, Isogai did not approve.

Their sensei, however, just laughed. A polite yet cheery laugh when greeted first thing by a knife to his face. Karasuma-sensei scowled on his behalf.

"Hi!" he waved, flashing the knife caught between his second and third fingers. "I'm Yamato Takashi, your home economics teacher for the rest of the year. Nice to meet you all!"

At first glance, he could almost be mistaken for Karasuma—tall, broad, spiky black hair. Yamato stood a bit taller, though Karasuma's longer spikes closed the height gap, and Karasuma had broader shoulders. The most distinguishing feature, though, lay their auras. Karasuma emanated stoic straight man with his rigid posture, angular gaze, and downturned mouth whereas Yamato was positively laidback, unassuming slump, smiling eyes, and permanent quirk to his grin.

Karma would later tell him that he was suspicious _because_ he was so unreasonably cheerful, but Isogai couldn't see how that had any connection. Maehara says he's too trusting, but what's wrong with seeing the best in people?

However, when Yamato-sensei turned those warm brown eyes upon him, Isogai couldn't help but repress a shudder. It was only an instant, but in that instant, Isogai felt his layers of class representative, schoolwide ikemen, perfect older brother, stripped away and to reveal his money-grubbing shameful self. Yet the scrutiny held no threat, no judgement. Only perfect understanding.

Isogai watched as each of his classmates in turn squirmed under the same audit, all coming to the same conclusion: this teacher was the real deal.

"I guess I'll start with some stuff about myself. I'm really good at making sushi—my dad taught me everything, and he's really good—and pasta and all sorts of foods but mostly sushi. I've lived all over, so I tend to pick up a few local recipes wherever I've been. Let's see… my favorite sushi are toro, hamachi, and shrimp, and I love milk! You should all drink lots of milk too, it's good for you! Oh right, this is my first year teaching so please forgive me of any mistakes. I look forward to working with you all!" Despite his proclaimed inexperience, he stood perfectly at ease in front of the class.

The door slid open with a _nurufufufu_.

"Karasuma-sensei! Why wasn't I informed of the arrival of a wonderful new teacher! I was halfway to Paris when my Sensei-senses started tingling!"

Bitch-sensei followed after him, mouthing words and gesturing at her scanty clothing to say that she had tried her best to uphold secrecy. Isogai refused to think about her various schemes—no sirree, he knew his pubescent imagination would leave him scarlet red.

Karasuma-sensei answered with a glare that clearly spoke "trade secret."

Meanwhile, Yamato-sensei laughed and extended a hand. "Nice to meetcha, Koro-sensei! I've heard a lot of good things about you! I'm Yamato, the home economics teacher. I hope you don't mind my intrusion!"

Koro-sensei flushed, quite literally letting what small flattery get to his head. "No, not at all! I look forward to our year together, Yamato-sensei!"

They sealed their meeting with a hand-tentacle-shake.

Their moment was intruded upon, however, by Terasaka's shout: "Are you an alien?"

Right, the bet. Isogai had forgotten in all the excitement. Nakamura had organized an elaborate betting pool regarding the identity of the next person—er, individual—to join the ranks of their assassination classroom. Ritsu had slapped "martian" with 130-1 odds, and Terasaka pounced with a ten Twix bet on it. Isogai himself didn't partake in the betting, though more by lack of funding than anything. But this clearly wasn't the time to ask such sensitive matters.

Koro-sensei seemed to agree, face reddening and shouting back: "How rude, Terasaka-kun!"

Yamato-sensei, to no one's surprise at this point, just laughed it off. "In some senses of the word, I guess so."

If he had left it at that, the incident could have been left behind in good will. But nope, Terasaka just had to make it worse. "No, I mean a martian! Ya know, from Uranus or Atlantis or whatever?" If Isogai weren't Isogai, he would have buried his head beneath his desk in shame.

Yamato laughed again (it _must_ be some pre-programmed response) and said, "Well, I'm Japanese born and bred, citizenship in one, two… too many countries to count, and denizen of of this world. So nope! Not an alien in that sense. The Earth's my home and I don't plan to witness its destruction any time soon!"

Karasuma nodded, appeased, and stepped forward. "Any _other_ questions?"

Whether cowed into silence by second-hand embarrassment or simply out of things to ask, no one moved. No one except Karma, the only other in the class who could be so oblivious to the atmosphere, but entirely by choice. And of course, in typical Karma fashion, he completely disregarded the hand raising.

"Ne, sensei, why are you wasting your talents as a measly home ec teacher? If you're so skilled, why don't you just take the monster's head and go on home?"

Once again, a completely logical inquiry with more tasteful ways of execution out there—Karma's specialty.

Isogai noticed a particular quality about Yamato-sensei's laugh this time. Or rather, it'd always been there and he could finally put his finger on it. His laugh wasn't derisive in the manner he'd thought was universal to all hitmen, but rather full of genuine sunny warmth. If he didn't know better (this was the _assassination_ classroom after all), he could easily see himself emulating the man.

He laughed (of course), and replied, "Well, my boss said so! Said it was a forced vacation of sorts. But don't worry, I'll be trying my best to teach you all—even my secret sushi recipes!"

Karma relented with a "ho." Isogai was one of the (lucky? overly concerned? ikemen?) few who knew of Karma's penchant for great cooking and his recent (and so far failing) venture into authentic sushi-making. And _everyone_ knew of the casual relationship between Karma and secrets.

Nakamura, however, was not done. "Then what's your usual job like?"

If nine months of hectic teaching and assassinating were considered a vacation, Isogai couldn't imagine what Yamato-sensei's formal job involved. Well, he could, maybe, but that would involve the sacrifice of his just-eaten bento. And that had cost good money. He really should stop following Maehara to see those zombie movies—they weren't doing much good for his stomach.

"Haha, the usual. Travelling, cooking, learning trade secrets and the like!"

Karasuma cut in, "He's a mafia hitman." Straightforward as always.

"Now now, Karasuma-sensei. Interrupting is rude!" Koro-sensei reprimanded.

"It's fine! I was done anyway," Yamato smiled.

"How are you planning to assassinate him?" Surprisingly, it was Bitch-sensei who asked the question. She had her serious hitman face on, probably in response to being in such close quarters with another of her profession.

"Well, I haven't been given much information on him and I don't want to reveal too much yet, so we'll see!" Ever optimistic, their new Yamato-sensei. Wise too.

Bitch-sensei, satisfied that she wasn't working with the carefree bumble he seemed to be, pointed a bright pink nail at Nagisa. "Maybe Nagisa-kun over there could help."

Nagisa slid lower in his seat, desperately avoiding eye contact with their predatory sensei. Isogai couldn't blame him, the poor guy.

Fortunately for him, the bell rang, and lunch break ended.

-:-:-

Karasuma had started his students on warm-ups—five laps around the track followed by two laps backwards—before he let his thoughts run back to his mysterious new cohort. He was there, leaning casually against a rugged oak atop the hills, shielding his eyes from the sun to look over the training field. Karasuma could tell that he had chosen the spot deliberately—vantage and veil, comfortable enough to be at ease, but not enough to fall prey to mid-afternoon drowsiness—unsurprising for a man of his suspected caliber. And despite his conspicuous white shirt and electric blue tie, he blended effortlessly into the shadows of the tree. Another testament to his skill. Karasuma estimated at most a quarter of his students would be able to pick up on the guy's presence at a glance. Which reminded him, he would need to start developing their instinctive senses, working up to surroundings awareness and enemy detection.

So when first of the students rounded the bend, he sent a curdling burst of bloodlust in their direction, made manifest in a manic pack of dogs, growling and nipping at their heels. Okano shot ahead with a yip, the first of the bunch to notice. Then a few at a time, the rest of the class picked up on the prickles down their spine, rushing faster, faster than ever in an attempt to outrun some unseen enemy while the sun beat relentlessly above them. Seconds later, Kimura lead the majority of the class by half a lap, Okano not even a step behind. Karasuma shook his head; their overall agility had improved by leaps and bounds, but their reactions were still turtle slow. Any half-decent hitman would have reacted within a second of even a hint of bloodlust. He cast a glance at Yamato, who waved cheerily when their eyes met.

Deciding that the two frantic laps had served lesson enough, Karasuma breathed out and let the tension settle, and the students collapsed like marionettes. They were practically drowning in puddles of sweat. Karasuma may have sympathized with them a bit but for the fact that he was the one put in charge of whipping them into shape. Sympathy could wait till after they've finished their mission.

"Karasuma-sensei," Kurahashi huffed after a minute, pushing herself up to a sitting position, "were you trying to kill us?"

"Yes," he answered simply. When the collective groaning quieted, he continued. "Have you ever killed a man?"

As expected, a chorus of "no"s and "of course not!"s.

"Have you ever thought of killing someone? _Truly_ killing someone." In his peripheral, he noted Yamato approaching, arms cobraed behind his head.

Some students squirmed. Some sat sifting through their thoughts. Karma rolled his eyes. Nagisa avoided eye contact. Yamato, stopped just a few meters away, surveyed the class.

"The target has taught you bloodlust. I will teach you how to detect it, react to it, hone it, and make it your own. Bloodlust is more than spite, more than acrimony, more than any emotion you have ever felt. In effect, it is a projection of your will. The word says it all: a will to kill."

The early summer wind whistled louder than ever as the class took a moment to absorb that. In their peace, even with the new additions to the class serving as reminders, they had forgotten their mission: to kill their homeroom teacher, a superbeing out to destroy the world in less than a year. It was his job to drill it into their heads—unpleasant, but necessary.

"Haha, sounds fun!" Yamato interjected, grinning goofily. The mafia, of course they'd find killing all fun and games. The students looked at him with varying degrees of incredulity.

Karasuma smoothed back a snarl, settling instead to ask neutrally, "and why's that?"

Without missing a beat, amusement sparkling in his words, "because we're all friends here, aren't we?"

-:-:-

Days remaining to assassinate Koro-sensei: 282

* * *

A/N: So yeah. I'm open to suggestions on interactions and such, but cannot guarantee anything. And fair warning, I have a bad record with writing long fics (both quality wise and discontinuing wise), however, I do intend to finish (or at least continue for the next while) this one. Pester me to keep to this (but not too much).

And reviews, as always, are much appreciated :3

Cool. Have a good day!

God bless,

TreeCat

2/1/16

[Edited 8/13/16 - fixed some awkward wordings]


	2. Assassin Time

We're All Hitmen Here

 _Chapter 2: Assassin Time_

A/N: For those who were confused, Yamamoto Takeshi is going undercover here as Yamato Takashi. To himself and people who knew him previously (i.e. all KHR characters), he is Yamamoto. To students and teachers (i.e. (nearly(?)) all AC characters), he is Yamato for the next while.

Disclaimer: I do not own KHR nor do I own AC. They belong to Amano Akira and Matsui Yuusei respectively.

* * *

The day had gone by fairly quietly, no explosions or fireworks or maniacal laughter of any sort. Well, there were the occasional volleys of bullets, the knives that went _broing_ , and the _cling clang_ of pot and pans as Yamamoto led the class in taking inventory. But after seven years of near constant exposure to the chaos of the Vongola household and a good many months spent with Squalo's indoor voice plus another many more with his outdoor voice, nothing could ever really be deemed loud anymore.

It wasn't an unpleasant sort of quiet as the kids focused on their studies, but it left Yamamoto seeking more to do. During such a lull on some ordinary mission, he would have donned a disguise and searched out the nearest batting cages, or if that was too risky, go people watching at the mall. But Yamamoto was a teacher this time, so he figured he had to do some teachery things.

And that's how he found himself balancing a precarious armload of produce and other ingredients, navigating his way up the mountain. It was quite a lot of food, maybe even a bit overboard for a class of 26 and a machine, but Tsuna probably wouldn't mind him spending mission funds on things that would help others, especially when they lacked the funding for themselves.

He'd made it ten steps in the door when he caught the sounds of shouting, nurufufuing, and chortling. Karasuma-sensei, Koro-sensei, and someone he didn't recognize. Unless Irina-sensei's voice grew a gravelly low, that meant a stranger was in the house. And by the amicableness in Koro-sensei's laughter and the harshness in Karasuma's shout (none of which said much), whether he was an enemy or not was debatable. Either way, a gathering of such folks meant chaos and Yamamoto was in need for a good dose of chaos.

When he rounded the corner and came in view of the others, Karasuma raised an eyebrow and asked, "And him?"

"What's up?" Yamamoto peered over his bags first at Karasuma, then at the stranger leaning against the wall, who looked sort of familiar—probably from some mafia profile or other. The man eyed him warily. It wasn't anything personal or even hostile, just the natural need for a hitman to seize up any and everyone, determine where they fall on the scales of usefulness and threat.

Yamamoto let his shoulders slump a bit, then stumbled over nothing. His top bag fell to the ground with a splat. "Oops," he grinned. Hopefully not too forced. 'Oblivious idiot' was easy to adopt, though not the best guise for a teacher; 'bumbling idiot,' however more appropriate, was really Tsuna's favorite cover and harder to act than it looked.

He blinked, and the bag was gone.

"He~llo, Yamato-sensei! Ah, that's Irina-sensei's master over there," Koro-sensei explained. Irina looked aside with a grumble. "Lovro-san."

Well that explained the familiarity. Lovro Brofski, the hitman dealer. Yamamoto had heard the rumors—a retired freelancer who now trained and organized other freelancers. Lovro was old, the dusk of his prime just overlapping Reborn's rise, and it showed in his wrinkles and grey pallor. But that didn't mean he wasn't still dangerous. Hitmen had to earn their place in the Vongola files, after all.

"Nice to meet you, Lovro-san. I've heard the stories about you! I'm Yamato by the way." He maneuvered a hand free and waved, not reaching for a handshake—they weren't at that level of trust yet. Lovro kept his arms by his sides, hands in plain sight. Hitman language for "I won't kill you—yet." Not a bad start.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Yamato-san." Lovro said.

"So what's this gathering about?" Yamamoto asked, keeping his words light. Reborn'd have his hide if he ever underestimated someone and lost because of it.

"Lovro-san claims that it is absolutely impossible for Irina-sensei to assassinate me, which is true, but then again no one could ever kill me, so instead I proposed they have a fun assassination competition with Karasuma-sensei as the target to see who's the least incompetent at assassinations!" Koro-sensei's infuriating sense with words earned him three glares and a grin.

"Haha, sounds fun! An assassination game!" Ah, the middle school memories of such games. Too bad the games grew less and less fun as time went on… But a true game like this sounded fun! "Can I play?"

"Nurufufufu, of course! You can be Karasuma-sensei's bodyguard!" Koro-sensei lit bright orange approval. And Karasuma didn't _seem_ displeased with the idea, though with his never smiling face it was kinda hard to tell. Irina, on the other hand, protested immediately.

"Wait! Two on one isn't fair!" she wailed.

"Hmph, and the two of us against the one of him is?" Lovro scoffed.

"But the two of us aren't working together!"

"Now, Irina, since when was life fair?"

Irina bit back a defeated scowl. "Fine. I agree."

Yamamoto could see where Koro-sensei was heading with all this complicated stuff. It was almost Reborn-esque in a way, minus the just-for-kicks torture.

"Okay! So it's agreed: the first to kill Karasuma-sensei wins! Attacks to Yamato-sensei don't count. Ditching of classes will not be tolerated! Otherwise disrupting lessons will also lead to disqualification! And no obstructing each other's assassinations! The assassination will start with the school day tomorrow!" Koro-sensei had set the rules, all that awaited was game start.

Karasuma stalked off first, still pissy over being the target. Yamamoto followed after at a slight jog to catch up, careful not to jostle his bags too much. "Ne, Karasuma-sensei." When he got no response, he nudged the guy with his shoulder and repeated, "Ne, Karasuma-sensei."

This time, Karasuma turned to face him, apologizing first, cursing the octopus second, and finally ready for conversation. "Just Karasuma is fine." He grabbed two of Yamamoto's bags, and they continued to the kitchen.

"Thanks! Got any plans for tomorrow?" Yamamoto asked.

Karasuma shrugged. "I'll take them as they come. When are you teaching tomorrow?"

"Second hour." They both knew that would be the most opportune time to strike. "You could come watch my class if you'd like! I'm starting them on cucumber rolls for some fun before we start on lessons!"

"I'll need to finish some reports first. I can join you for the second half of the period."

"Coming for the taste testing, eh? Freeloader," Yamamoto teased.

"I'll be fine," Karasuma continued, as if Yamamoto hadn't spoken. "I've handled worse." It was stated as fact and Yamamoto had no reason to doubt him. But hurr, that wasn't any fun. The guy could've at least humored him with a whack or something, as Hibari often did.

"'Kay then, and thanks for helping!"

They stepped through the threshold and Karasuma sat his bags down next to the one that had disappeared earlier with a "no problem," then watched wordlessly as Yamamoto unloaded his heap of goods. Five packs of nori, 3 dozen eggs, a bundle of avocados, a box of imitation crab, half a tuna, many radishes, more cucumbers, two bottles of vinegar, and a 20 kilo sack of rice. Then he moved on to Karasuma's bags and pulled out 10 liters of milk, another 7 of orange juice, and a 2 baby watermelon. The final bag had around 3 kilos of assorted fish eggs, 6 squids, and 2 eels.

When he was done shoving everything in the fridge, he looked up to see Karasuma gaping in a way that somehow blended concern and curiosity with deadpan.

" _How._ "

Oops, he'd forgotten that some people weren't used to such a sight. "Well let's just say I know a kid who stores a bazooka, a metric ton of grenades, and enough grape candies to satisfy all of Italy in his hair. So I just learned a few tricks from him!" He shot his best smile.

Karasuma did not look impressed.

"Hehe?" Yamamoto tried.

"Just leave it," Karasuma said finally, and walked away.

-:-:-

There was definitely something fishy going on. Kurahashi could smell it. Well, she could see it too, a not-really-camouflaged Koro-sensei not-quite-hiding behind some bushes with Bitch-sensei and some old man, but that was beside the point. Bloodlust was in the air, and if she followed the wisps, they led directly to Karasuma-sensei, who seemed to be more uptight than usual. Not that that was a bad thing or anything.

Ok, and there may have been a Yamato-sensei in the way as well, smiling as he watched the students struggling with their knife work up on those high poles. He seemed perfectly at ease standing in the middle of the stream of bloodlust, while Kurahashi, watching back from the poles some few meter away, couldn't help the shivers that coursed up her spine.

Finally, Kurahashi had had enough of the suspense and crouched to ask, "Sensei, over there…"

"Just ignore it," gritted Karasuma before she could finish, "Continue as you were."

But something was definitely up.

Another while passed and the awkwardness still hung in the air. Finally, with class almost over and having acknowledged that no one was fully into their exercises, Karasuma sighed and motioned everyone to gather. So they gathered and sat and listened to the plights of their poor Karasuma-sensei.

Then as soon as he dismissed class, Bitch-sensei stepped out of the bushes with a thermos, oozing cheer and goodwill, and waltzed up to Yamato-sensei.

"Yamato-sensei~" Irina batted her eyelashes.

"Jelavic-sensei! Hiya!" Yamato smiled dutifully at her.

"It's your first full day of work, so I've prepared a nice, cool drink as a welcoming present," sung Irina, proffering the brimming cup. It was suspicious, and given the backstory they've just heard, probably contained something nasty. But she was almost as straightforward as Okuda in her offerings that Yamato must have sensed it too. And if he didn't? Well…

"Muscle relaxant, most like. Knock him out early and leave me unprotected," Karasuma informed them in an aside. "Though frankly she'd never get close enough to attack me, with or without Yamato." He too was watching how the scene would play out. Hmm, maybe Yamato-sensei would show his hitman skills today.

"It's really good, and I've made it just for you, Yamato-sensei," wheedled Irina, while Yamato held his hands up in apology, shaking his head. And wow, Kurahashi wanted to know how one smiles with genuine ruefulness in the face of poison like that.

"Please, please? Yamato-sensei?"

"Sorry, Jelavic-sensei—"

"Just call me Irina."

"Sorry, Irina-sensei, but no can do!"

"Pretty pretty pretty please? I'll cry if you don't have any…" Bitch-sensei collapsed in crocodile tears. (Real crocodiles tears actually weren't linked to emotion of any sort, but that was beside the point.) "You meanie! I just wanted to be _nice_ and _friendly_ and you reject my gift?"

Just as Karasuma-sensei stepped forward to end this spectacle, Yamato-sensei gave an "okay, I'll do it."

Well this teacher was certainly full of surprises, kinda like a stick bug. Someone snorted from behind Kurahashi, and Karasuma gave Yamato an appraising look. And Yamato-sensei, who must be oblivious or crazy or just plain stupid, accepted the cup from a rightfully bewildered Bitch-sensei and downed it in a gulp, smile never leaving his face.

"Thanks, Irina-sensei! It's not bad, a bit too bitter to pass as milk tea though… Mm, you could decrease the concentration of metaxalone by a gyuup and add some more flowery tea instead of oolong with a pyat more milk. Let's see… I'll give you a 3!" He beamed, and Irina looked just as mystified as Kurahashi felt, which was very. "Hey, this teacher business is kind of fun!"

Well, he didn't turn colors or change shape, so at least they confirmed that he wasn't an alien. But that still didn't explain his immunity. Maybe he really was a stick bug.

Yamato reached a hand to help Irina up, and a shadow dashed through the bushes past them. Kurahashi glanced to where Koro-sensei and the gray man—Lovro-san, Karasuma had called him—just were. Gone.

"Karasuma-sensei!" she cried, just as Lovro pounced from behind him. But before she could finish her warning, Lovro was twisting to avoid a streak of green while parrying another with his own volley of anti-sensei blades. The whole exchange had lasted under a second. He landed lightly on his feet with a smug purr, and Kurahashi followed his gaze to the knife lying beside Karasuma's shoe.

"Almost," Karasuma growled, smoothing out his suit. Then he glanced back at Yamato, who darted a smile back, and said to him, "Thank you." Eh? But Kurahashi hadn't even noticed Yamato move!

Irina let out a frustrated hiss, and huffed off.

"You see, Irina," Lovro called after her, "you can not do anything here with your skills. Such a disgraceful show, my foolish pupil." Kurahashi decided she didn't like the guy. Even a Bitch-sensei deserved a nicer master.

Then the old man acknowledged Karasuma with a dip of his head, "You are stronger than I thought." And to Yamato, "well thrown." Addressing them both, he said, "Such a mistake will not happen again." Then he left, going the opposite direction of Irina.

Karasuma picked up the blade with a twirl and headed off too. Several students followed after, chattering over flying knives and poison resistance and how cool Karasuma and Yamato and everyone but Bitch-sensei were. Kurahashi went too, after a lingering look at their new specimen of a teacher.

"Well, time for home ec class!" Yamato said, and ushered the others back to the building.

What an odd man and an odd day.

-:-:-

Even from the classroom, Class E could feel the tension in the air. Karasuma-sensei was alone, unpacking his lunch in his usual spot at the edge of the forest.

And there was Irina, striding toward him, knife in hand, determination gleaming in her eyes.

"Bitch-sensei's sure got commitment," Karma commented unnecessarily.

The two spoke for a while, then Irina started to strip.

Okajima whistled.

"Whatcha all looking at?"

Nakamura swore. "Yamato-sensei!" Seriously, the man needed to learn how to _not_ sneak around like a ninja everywhere.

"What did we say about swearing and lifestyle choices yesterday, Nakamura?"

"Sorry, sensei. But what are you doing here?"

"Ssh," shushed Yada before he could answer, "Bitch-sensei's going for the attack!"

And sure enough, Irina had circled around the tree, knife poised to strike.

"Karasuma-sensei said he wanted to eat alone." Yamato peered over her shoulder. "Oh? Looks like Irina-sensei's gonna win this one."

"What are you talking about, sensei? Karasuma-sensei has way more experience," protested Kurahashi.

"He's right," Karma pointed at Bitch-sensei's discarded blouse. A faintly visible wire traced back to Irina.

"Well there's that, but look at her expression." Her eyes were narrowed in sky blue slits, mouth set with slightly knitted brows.

"Now contrast that with Karasuma-sensei's expression." Eyes wary, mouth cocked to breathe a sigh.

"So?" Terasaka drawled from his desk, half listening to their conversation. "What's expression have to do with experience and skill?"

Yamato brought a hand to his chin, rubbing his scar. "Well, Irina-sensei's like blurp-a-glurd while Karasuma-sensei's is more hum hurmph."

Judging by the silence that descended, no one had understood. Nakamura had an inkling about what he was getting at, but…

"I think he's saying that Irina-sensei's expression says 'I need to win' while Karasuma-sensei's says 'let's get this over with.' Um, that's how I see it, anyway." Nagisa looked to Yamato for confirmation. Huh, the pipsqueak threw new surprises every day.

"Yup, what Nagisa said," Yamato agreed. "By stepping out into the open like that, Irina-sensei's turned this into a battle, and every battle is a clash of wills."

Irina moved, pulling the wire in a smooth stroke, and Karasuma flailed, if just for a second. But a second was enough, and she had him straddled beneath her.

"Way to go, Bitch-sensei!" someone shouted.

"Uooh, she actually got him!"

But it still wasn't over. Irina slashed downward with her knife, aiming at Karasuma's face. At the last moment, he blocked, catching her arms as the tip of the blade hovered mere centimeters above his widened eyes. Nakamura wasn't sure what was most impressive at this point: Irina's near success, Karasuma's reflexes, or Yamato's foresight. Nagisa's interpretive skills were also in the running.

"Ne, Sensei," Nakamura said they watched the struggle for control, "how'd you think this will end?"

He raised an eyebrow, sensei-mode engaged, "how do _you_ think this'll end, Nakamura?"

She gave the situation another lookover. Both were gritting their teeth in fierce concentration, but if Karasuma wanted to win, he'd win, even if he had to fight the added force of gravity. She opened her mouth to answer.

"Eeh?" But Kurahashi's exclamation told Nakamura to reassess.

And there it was, Irina now turning on the seduction and Karasuma beyond exasperated.

"Karasuma-sensei's gonna give, isn't he."

Yamato gave her a wry grin, and nodded her to look back out the window.

Karasuma sighed and let go. The knife boinged harmlessly as it met his chest.

"She got him!"

"Awesome!"

"Go Bitch-sensei!"

Irina still looked shocked. She couldn't know of the hope her victory had brought the class as a fellow underdog. Heck half of Class E probably couldn't consciously make the connection either. But if Bitch-sensei could beat Karasuma-sensei, Class E just might stand a chance against the unkillable Koro-sensei. So all's well that ends well, right?

But there was still something nagging at Nakamura. "Sensei, if a battle's a clash of wills, what's an assassination?"

A few heads turned their way. Nagisa was poised to take notes. Even Karma stopped feigning disinterest. Nakamura twisted a strand of hair, thinking she may have dug at something unpleasant. Sure she acted a brazen numskull at times, but she was by no means unwitting.

And Yamato's eyes darkened, his smile faded. Between 'run' and 'apologize' as her instincts screamed, Nakamura settled on 'freeze' as soon as Yamato spoke.

"An assassination—a _real_ assassination—is a cold blooded killing."

It wasn't even directed at them, but the look on his face was so uncharacteristic—if just for the one day they'd known him—that it was absolutely chilling.

The whooping and hollering quieted as the rest of the students caught on. Soon enough, the only noise left was the too-loud scritch scratch of Nagisa's pen on paper. Poof went the idle fantasies of riches and fame, and in their place fell the image of Koro-sensei's corpse at their feet, dead by their very own hands. Nakamura shuddered.

"Sensei, I'm sorry—"

"Ah? Haha um no, I mean, well there's some people out there you're supposed to kill, ok maybe not 'supposed to kill' but 'have to be killed.' Hm, this isn't coming out right… Let me just say this: I hope that your Koro-sensei is the only one you ever have to kill." Yamato was smiling again, forced, looking more like a grimace.

The room went silent, save the furious scrawling of Nagisa. Victorious cries from Irina carried through the glass pane.

"Hm, let me put it this way: an assassination is… a game." His smile twisted cryptically.

"But games and lives are completely different things," said Isogai. "What do you mean?"

Yamato laughed, and Nakamura wasn't sure if the bitterness in it was imagined or not. "Life's a game, Isogai. But with assassinations, you at least have an objective."

"Um, is why you came here?" asked Kayano, timidly.

His expression softened to something that spoke of wry humor with traces of concern—and was that pity in his eyes? "Haha, I haven't had such a fun assignment in a long time!"

Not only was he evading the question, but he was clearly trying to lighten the atmosphere—a nearly impossible task as the cause of such sombriety, as Nakamura would know.

Suddenly and with great timing, Irina banged on the window screaming "woohoo"s and "I did it!"s. With such classic Bitch-sensei antics, whatever darkness had remained lifted as Yamato led the class in laughter. The air was breathable again.

Taking the opportunity to reset the class on happier thoughts, Nakamura hooted, "That's Bitch-sensei for you!"

"Haha, seems so!"

The class dissolved once again in mindless ovation. But when Nakamura looked back at Yamato-sensei, the pensive look still hadn't fully left his face. Not frowning, but not smiling either—the archetypal pre-Koro-sensei Class E look. Lost, defeated by life. If he were any other kid, she would've gone and pinched his cheeks to wipe that glum expression off his face and shoo away whatever ghosts haunted him, but as it were, he was a professional hitman and she a mere middle schooler. He shifted and caught her watching him. Or maybe he was already aware of it and just wanted to acknowledge her. Either way, the corners of his mouth crooked upward, and he stood, saying something about going to congratulate Irina-sensei. He ruffled her hair with a warm hand, and left.

The bell rang.

Nagisa looked over at her and shrugged. He was right, some things were meant to be left alone.

* * *

A/N: Yeah... went kinda dark at the end... (were either Nakamura or Yamamoto too OOC in those moments?—I mean this _is_ TYL Yamamoto, but still...)

So this story is mostly gonna weave around canon, much like this chapter, with a few original happenings peppered throughout. This for me is a way to work on some of my weaknesses: long stories, large casts, characterization, and plot. Basically, everything :( So feedback, especially regarding OOCness and writing style, is much appreciated.

Also, are the names switches between "Bitch-sensei" and "Irina" odd? As in I shorten "Karasuma-sensei" to "Karasuma" while "Koro-sensei" is unabbreviable, so what are your thoughts? Or do you not care and I'm just overthinking? I fret too many details.

Finally, does anyone have experience with an actual Japanese Home economics class? Or baseball—does anyone know baseball well and care to help me with future baseball chapters/references? All I know is based off web research, and I'm trying to keep this as realistic as tentacle-monster-mafia stories can be, so thanks in advance :)

Well, I'm finally done rambling. Thanks for all the love, please share your thoughts :3, and have a great day (or night).

God bless,

TreeCat

2/10/16


	3. Time to Break the Fourth Wall

We're All Hitmen Here

 _Chapter 3: Time to Break the Fourth Wall_

A somewhat fillerish chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own either KHR or AC, as you should be thankful of. You'll see what I mean below. And contains hints of SPOILERS for ch 128 and beyond.

* * *

 **Boss Tsuna**

 _XXX-XXX-XXXX_

[back] [call] [attch file] [more]

Good morning, Tsuna! Or is it night? I don't really know, but how's it going? the first week here's been well and good. Everyone's pretty nice, even the target, Koro-sensei. But I think he breaks into my room to do my laundry sometimes though. I brought it up to Karasuma once (the straightfaced teacher) and he said, you too? So I guess it's normal haha [09:38]

Kids are great. There's one who plays baseball and I've been watching him and his friend practice after school sometimes. Brings back old memories, you know? There's also a few talented cooks and seamstresses/sters here, so classes have mostly gone well too. Sometimes they don't understand what I'm saying, but it's still mostly good. [09:39]

As for assassination attempts, the kids and even the teachers are constantly shooting or stabbing at the target, so I've joined in and it's pretty fun. No one's managed to hit him yet, but I don't think anyone's really trying. Ah, and about that, my sword made of the rubbery anti-sensei material finally came yesterday and it's a lot like a toy sword. So yeah, lots of fun, little progress. [09:42]

No new findings on human experimentation [09:42]

Cover still holds, though Lovro looked kinda suspicious of me. [09:44]

Oh right, Lovro Brofski, the hitman dealer guy, came and we played an assassination game with Irina and Karasuma (he's Irina's master). I think I kinda scared the students after that by talking about assassinations, but it's all fine now so no worries! [09:44]

Gah, class starting soon. will finish update later [09:45]

btw I read on local news that Hibari leveled spme store in a nearby town, so jst a headd up if you havent heRd yet k rly gtg now [09:50]

[Boss Tsuna 09:50] - Hey Yamamoto! It's like 2am here but I've still got stacks of paperwork

[Boss Tsuna 09:50] - and Hibari did what!?m

[Boss Tsuna 09:51] - Ok, thanks for checking in and have a great day :)

[Boss Tsuna 09:51] - But Hibari… sigh...

-:-:-

Her head pounded, her stomach churned, her every fiber throbbed with dull pain. She felt as if someone had erased her character and redrawn her to fit a different mold.

"Augh…" she sighed, flopping over her desk. Why did she have to get a chapter about feeling sick of all things?

"What's wrong, Fuwa-san?" Hara asked, blocking her only solace of midday sunniness with that bulky frame of hers. Ah, shhh, she didn't just think that. If Hara could read her thoughts, Fuwa would be dead hundreds of times over already. But then again, that was preferable to her current situation.

"Augh…" she sighed again.

"What's up, Fuwa-san?" Kayano chirped, appearing on her other side.

"Is she okay?" that was Nagisa, overhearing the too-loud voices. It was horrible, their every word rushing in through her ears and ramming into each other as form of high-speed bumper cars without the safety inflations. So don't forget to buckle your seatbelts, folks.

"Shh! Go play baseball with Sugino-san or something, Nagisa. This is a _girl_ thing." While technically not true, at least Fuwa didn't think so, she appreciated Kayano's goodwill. And creaking an eye open to witness Nagisa's flustering was more than worth the assault of bright light.

"Is it _that_ time of month?" Hara asked, sympathy lacing her words.

"No," it was hard to put in words exactly what she was feeling, "it's not that, but there a twisting in my stomach like something's not right… Like a gut feeling magnified times twenty. It's like our world's gone awry—and I mean that literally, I think."

Hara shifted, and the sun beams embraced Fuwa once again. Hmm, sun, weather… she felt like she was getting somewhere, if the slight settling in her stomach was anything to go by.

"When did it start? Are you feverish? Should I call a teacher?" And there goes Mama mode. The next thing she knew, her cheek was resting on a warm jacket and her forehead pressing against a cool hand.

Fuwa shook her head, a futile effort against Hara's Mama Force. Even tiny twittery Kayano was pushing her to stay down. "It started…" when did it start? Yesterday? Two days ago? Before that? She remembered a nauseating sense of offness when Yamato-sensei first introduced himself, but she'd forced her way through by sheer curiosity of what was to come. Wait, that was it! "It started with Yamato-sensei!"

And with that realization in mind, she sprung up from her chair, headache gone and stomach quiet. She dragged a protesting Hara and Kayano past a surprised and blushing Nagisa, hair forced into braids by a chortling Nakamura, to find Yamato and hopefully resolve her mysterious affliction.

-:-:-:-

"Yamato-sensei!" Fuwa barged into the teacher's office without waiting for an invitation. Hara and Kayano followed her after an "excuse me."

"Hiya Fuwa! Hara, Kayano. Do you need something?" If Yamato was surprised by their sudden intrusion, it didn't show at all. He even had his laptop closed, as if expecting them. Or just shirking work.

"Quiet, brats! I'm taking a beauty nap here!" Bitch-sensei's snap was lost in the oversized pillow her face was buried in. How she managed to breathe and how she kept the pillow makeup free were feats worthy of a manga protagonist, which Bitch-sensei clearly was not, in Fuwa's humble opinion.

"So I haven't been feeling so well, Yamato-sensei"—his smile started to flip upside down at that—"and I've thought it through and came to the conclusion that you, respectfully, are the source of it all. Ever since you came to our class, I've been feeling that _something_ was off, and every time I'd see you or even think about you, my stomach would go all tight and my head all light and my legs limp."

"Sounds like a classic love at first sight," murmured Bitch-sensei.

"No!" Fuwa wailed, "it's not like that! I'm not in a shoujo manga, I'm pretty sure. All signs point to shounen and we all know how notoriously little romance there is in shounen. So it's not that, I swear!"

Hara gave her a concerned look.

Yamato-sensei had the nerve to laugh, whatever worry he had previously shown gone without a trace. Just how many faces did this man have? "Sorry, Fuwa, but I don't like you like that. I mean, you're 14 and I'm 24. It just doesn't work out that way."

At that, Bitch-sensei looked up from her pillow and shot Yamato-sensei a sugary death glare. " _Yamato-sensei~_ you don't get to crush young girls' hearts like that…"

"Aha"—so _now_ he had the gall to blush—"Sorry, Yuzuki-kun! You're still a great person!" Now _that_ , if Fuwa had actually felt anything remotely like that—which she didn't—would have been pushing it. Bitch-sensei groaned in despair.

"No, no, no! That's not what I'm saying." Being ignored like this was even worse than existing in a scene as a filler character. Really, this chapter's all about her, yet here she was, feelings and opinions ignored by the overall main character and the semi-mainish character. "I don't like Yamamoto-sensei like that!"

" _Yamato_ -sensei, Fuwa-san, _Ya-ma-to_ ," Kayano whispered hurriedly, desperately trying to contain this mess.

"I don't like Yamato-sensei like that! It's just that whenever I see him I feel like the storyline is being thrown out of whack! And it's disorientating! I mean look at me. I'm practically screaming OOC! I've never raised my voice in canon! Ah! Canon! That's it!"

Her friends backed away, slowly inching toward the door. Yamato raised an infuriating brow, looking as if he were on the verge of laughter.

"It's NOT funny!"

"Maa, Fuwa, I'm not gonna laugh!" As if. "But by 'storyline thrown out of whack,' do you mean predestination and fate and the like?"

Fuwa took a deep breath. Okay. It seemed as if the screaming melo full of fruitless misunderstandings was finally over. Thankfully. Manga was something she liked to read, not something she wanted to live.

"Well, sort of. If my instincts are correct, we're living in a story. In my—our—previous storyworlds, called canon, everything was established beforehand. In this world, though, sometimes I'm not entirely sure if the author knows what she's planning. The previous authors did, so my characterization—my personality, you know?—felt more consistent. But ever since you, Yamamoto-sensei, ("Ya-ma-to," Kayano whispered), appeared, I've felt as if I didn't know who I was anymore. Lost, hollow, empty. Like my life has no purpose other than to provide entertainment to those sitting on the other side of a screen. What shall I do with my life? Oh, how the fates hath been unmerciful to me! Wait! Delete the latter half of this paragraph! See—I'm going OOC again!"

"Identity crisis much," Bitch-sensei commented when Fuwa had calmed down somewhat.

"Don't worry, Fuwa-san! We'll always be here for you!" Kayano patted Fuwa's shoulder. Hara smiled encouragingly.

Fuwa took a deep breath and continued: "But that's not the end of it! It's not just limited to me. I mean, in this new world, Bitch-sensei could be a she-dog in disguise, Hara a sumo wrestler, Kayano a squid, and Yamato-sensei _actually_ a Yamamoto-sensei! Perhaps Karasuma-sensei would be a majestic stork and Koro-sensei a turtle and we'd all ride carousels together until kingdom come. But then a giant gorilla would land atop the carousel and start dancing the can-can with a bespectacled man while there's a kufufuing and nurufufuing in the background. Then the super-main-protagonist-dude would show up in neon orange boxers and beats the gorilla up with flaming pieces of takoyaki while somber violin music plays in the background and I don't know where I'm going with this. Ah right, world-building. In this world of canon-divergent plotlines, we never know what could happen. So with all this going on and life as we knew it in shambles: who am I?"

She didn't know what she had just said. She wasn't quite sure the author knew either.

"You're Fuwa, Fuwa!" Yamato-sensei said when she was done, as if it were obvious. "Just take life by the lapels and be who you want to be!" He then jumped out the window and flew away in a trail of blue flames.

"Don't pretend to be who you're not, Fuwa-san!" Kayano twirled up through the ceiling.

"Mama's here for you," Hara gave her a great bear hug, breaking a lung or two in the process, then disappeared into the wall.

"Riwr." A golden puppy growled in her face as she collapsed in pain. "RAWR!" Then vanished.

And Fuwa was left alone to contemplate the eccentricities of life.

-:-:-:-

Fuwa awoke to her mother's call: "Yuzuki! Did you stay up till 3 reading manga again? Too little sleep makes you prone to illnesses you know!"

...

Yamamoto woke up feeling out of place and wondering vaguely if his identity had been exposed already. Then remembered he had a report to finish and his phone was left uncharged.

...

Kayano awoke with an aching at the back of her neck, wondering too if her identity had been exposed. Psh, naw. She was far too good for that.

...

Hara awoke with a sense of insult and sympathy and the need to give Fuwa a crushing hug. Hurt/comfort—she would redefine the term with that hug.

...

Irina woke pondering the name "Yamamoto" and flames and she-dogs. Then promptly forgot the first two when her groggy mind registered the third.

* * *

A/N: At this point, you're probably thinking I'm either crazy or hysterical and probably the former. Let's just say I wrote most of this at ~1-3am some weeks ago then edited it at some saner times to integrate it somewhat into the story. Still an inane chapter though...

And I said last chapter I'd like to keep my characters IC... meh. Couldn't resist this. Hyper-aware Fuwa was too much fun and may or may not appear latter in this work :P

Also, I'm still looking for someone(s) knowledgeable in either cooking/Japanese home ec/Japanese schooling in general and in baseball. Please help :3

A big thanks to all you who have supported this—I'm wowed. Thank you very much :D

Any thoughts, comments, questions, suggestions (plot or else wise) are much appreciated. Reviews are love.

Alright that's all thanks again and have a good day (or night) God bless,

TreeCat

2/14/2016


	4. Tea Time

We're All Hitmen Here

 _Chapter 4: Tea Time_

A/N: So... it's been a while... And if you're continuing here from the previous chapter, be prepared for serious mood whiplash. Hehe.

[Insert Usual Disclaimer Here]

* * *

It was season again for watery giants to descend the skies. One particularly big-bellied cloud idled before the moon, pausing for breath, and the shadows grew bolder in their play. The trees and cicadas gossiped with the night wind, crickets demanding to join, a lone owl singing his own song. A well worn path wound up the mountainside, fringing upon the forest with loosened dirt. Twigs dark and damp snapped dully underfoot.

Nagisa had traveled this path what one could call too many times, chatting amicably with classmates in the day and half blind on nights like these, seeking what all have sought at least once in their lives—escape.

It was a chemistry test this time. The compounds and mixtures had bubbled out his brain till nothing but faint wisps were left. It was only after the midair chemistry experiment that he had understood, but it was already over by then, the test. He'd accidentally left the test peeping up out of his backpack, where his had mother had chanced upon it with frustrated tears and half-crazed insults. He'd endured those. What he couldn't stand though, was the silence that followed. Ten hours now without a sound. Unacknowledged. Invisible.

So he escaped.

First he tried the baseball field, but his only company was the ghost wind and a creaking metal gate. Next was Karma's house, dropping by on a whim, but he wasn't there. Escaping too his lonely house, probably. Nagisa didn't know where he went at such times, so he continued on.

The sun had set by then, blazing orange-pinks driven off by blacks and blues and glittering whites in a wave of night, a dust of stars. By the time he reached the foot of the mountain, a fine mist had gathered, coalescing to a dense fog as he drew near the school.

He stopped where the path opened into the clearing that held their track, a beam of concentrated moonlight cutting across the field of white momentarily blinding him. Blinking away afterimages, he squinted and made out a wraith dancing in the near distance. He blinked again and saw the sword, steel glaring as it caught the moon in a diagonal sweep. The figure lunged and swung, twirled, seamlessly swinging the blade over and around in an arc. Nagisa couldn't hear the clean swishes over the night chatter, yet each swing rung loud and clear in his mind. Tinny jabs, keening slices, bellowing thrusts. Each movement flowed smoothly into the next. He wasn't sure how long he'd stood there, or when the fog receded, but when another stab dazzled his eyes in a squawking cacophony, Nagisa realized the deadly dancer before him was Yamato-sensei.

Thunder roared suddenly, scaring the skies to a blubbering cry, drowning out the night symphony.

A rabbit streaked before him, seeking shelter beneath the trees, and Nagisa followed suit, drenched already by the sudden rain.

Without warning, something hit the tree beside him with a thunk, and he startled. The rabbit scuttled off again, and Nagisa took a deep breath, then crouched to pick up the rubbery knife that fell at his feet.

"Oh, Nagisa! Sorry 'bout that!" When he looked up again, Yamato was closing the distance between them, a shinai resting on his shoulder, hair plastered against his head. Above him, the crescent moon hung low, few clouds in sight—where the rain came from was a mystery. That Nagisa could swear Yamato was wielding a real katana before was another.

Rather than exchanging his questions for roundabout answers, he held out the knife. "Hello, sensei."

Yamato took it with a thanks, looking perfectly at ease amid in the downpour. "Your stealth skills are really something!"

Nagisa shrugged. "It was because of the fog."

With a laugh, Yamato fluffed his hair. A warm, well-practiced action. "Sure it was. Now come on, let's get you out of this rain."

He led him into the building, stopping just inside to shake off most of the rainwater, past the classroom to the home ec kitchen where he sat Nagisa down at the nearest table. It squelched in protest at his wetness.

He had just wrung out his two sleeves as best he could when Yamato set a stack of drying cloths next to him. Nagisa just noticed the floor didn't squelch for him when he walked. "I haven't seen any new ones around, but these should do." He took one for himself and ran it through his hair. Nagisa took out his hair ties and did the same.

Just as his mother taught—lean forward and let the hair hang down to rub at the backside. He glanced up to see Yamato with a small smile on his face looking at him. Nagisa blushed and quickly put his hair back up. He stared at his dangling feet swinging too and fro.

"Tea?" Yamato asked after a beat.

Nagisa nodded. "Okay."

After the clatter of shifting pans at the sound of running water, Nagisa looked up to watch Yamato-sensei. He held the kettle steady in one hand, the other resting casually atop the faucet. He was muttering something— _sixteen, seventeen, annnnd stop,_ Nagisa made out at the end—and turned off the faucet.

The stove wouldn't start, coughing up gas but no flames. Yamato tsked, then positioned himself right between Nagisa and the stove so that he couldn't see what he was doing. When he moved away, the kettle was purring atop a steady blue flame.

Before Nagisa could ponder too much on the offness of the blue, Yamato sat down across from him, reassurance written soft across his features. "Want to talk about it?" The question was inviting, without a hint of forcefulness.

Nagisa let a small sigh. He must look more pathetic than usual to inspire such a question, a sopping blue puppy. But not today. Not today. "Sorry Sensei. Please don't worry about me. I'm sorry for causing you trouble."

"Eh? What trouble? This is no trouble at all! Haha, I was actually thinking to get to know you kids better, so I guess this is a good start." Yamato shrugged with half a smile. He continued chattering about his day, how Sugaya would color his rice with tomato and spinach juice then add too much salt, how Terasaka's chopping was surprisingly even, how Kayano could make a bittermelon salad taste sweet, how—oh, there's the kettle—anyway, how Muramatsu's noodles were badly seasoned cardboard, and at some point, Nagisa just let the Yamato's rumbling tenor flow over him, chuckling lightly where he was supposed to, not dwelling too deeply in the meaning.

"You remind me of someone, you know?" Yamato said after a longer lull.

Nagisa nodded, watching the kettle puffing steam back on the stove. "Mm."

"He's a short fella with big doe eyes and a no-good streak ten kilos wide. In a good way, of course. One of the strongest kids I know."

"Mm," Nagisa repeated, fingering the sides of his cup. Then thinking back to the dance of steel, "Does he have to do with… your other job?"

"Haha, bonked the screw on the head there! Anyway, he started off with grades more abysmal than yours, but then again, mine weren't much better than his. But he was probably worse off than both me and you back then, hounded by bullies and no friends by his side." There was an undercurrent of regret in his words, and Nagisa felt strangely envious for this guy who had a friend that angered on his behalf.

"What happened?" The question was obligatory, but Nagisa couldn't stifle his rising wonder. "How did you meet?"

"Haa, well, we were in the same class together in middle school. Hm, and well, he got a tutor kinda like Koro-sensei but with these fancy toys, whipped him silly, and set him on us to wriggle himself into our lives." The faraway look in his eyes and crook to his mouth bespoke of old scars and fresh wounds just healing over, all by the balm of his old friend. "So he did."

His story was barely a story with all the gaping holes, but Nagisa didn't push. Yamato gave him space, so he would do the same in return.

The kettle whistled.

As Yamato moved to grab it, Nagisa began, "My mom wanted a girl." He saw Yamato's back tense and recover as he cut off the off-blue flame. "A smart daughter." And he'd failed on both accounts.

Steam rose to the ceiling and dispersed; the empty kettled _whooshed_ its condolences.

"Is that why you're here?" Yamato set the teapot on the table and sat back down.

"The chemistry test. She saw it, and, well, combusted I guess you could say."

Surprisingly, Yamato chuckled at that, a low rumble from the back of his throat. "You and Tsuna are exactly alike. Even after the hellish tutoring, he never got above a seventy-three percent in chem."

Nagisa looked up at that, sliding back on his wrist the spare hair tie he didn't realize he'd taken off.

"You know, kid. You're gonna be great and successful one day." Yamato concluded from nowhere. "I'm betting my life on it."

"Why?" The question was out before Nagisa could stop it.

And suddenly, a warm, calloused hand fluffed his hair, and Nagisa blinked to see Yamato beside him, trust in his eyes and laughter lining his mouth. "'Cause you're short, kind, and fluffy, with a core of steel. Just like the boss I swore my life to."

Nagisa knew he should say something, a 'thank you,' maybe, but something lodged itself in his throat. He was a nobody, yet here his sensei was, placing Nagisa's murky future before his own. It was awkward, but so… genuine that Nagisa felt a _twang_ as his heart sighed some burden away.

"Come on now, let's finish your tea and get you home. Tomorrow's a new day and you've got to be well rested to face it!"

So he did, and when he followed Yamato-sensei down the mountain, weaving around the largest of puddles, he realized the churning muck of thoughts he'd harbored for his mother had thinned and the prospect of going home to silent walls no longer so daunting.

* * *

A/N: Told you I'm bad with long stories... But I've gotten a friend who volunteered to bug me to finish this, so (hopefully) we'll see this through to completion :) Keep reading and reviewing; I love you all.

And I apologize if this chapter isn't up to par with or as long as the others. I need to ease back into the swing of writing (and find more intrinsic motivation to continue), so for now, here ya go.

Oh yeah, and anyone with home ec (especially Japanese home ec) experience care to volunteer some stories and/or knowledge? Thanks to **zenkichi** for volunteering his(?) cheffing knowledge that will be put to use in some later chapter. Anyone else with Japanese or Italian cooking skills are also welcome to share, just drop a PM or review to let me know. Thanks!

God bless,

TreeCat

4/13/2016


	5. Unraveling Time

We're All Hitmen Here

 _Chapter 5: Unraveling Time_

A/N: Apologies. Much apologies for not updating. But you're not here for apologies, so go on. Continue reading.

Disclaimer: I own neither KHR nor AC. All credit goes to their respective authors.

* * *

Immediately after the octopus called start, head glowing green, Yamato swooped in for a low sweep with his knife. Aiming for the wrist, Karasuma lashed out a leg but Yamato darted sideways as soon as Karasuma so much as twitched. Karasuma pressed on—an uppercut and a series of slashes that Yamato backstepped steadily on the dewy grass. Yamato got a good kick in and they sprang apart. With thirteen meters between them, Karasuma gave his opponent an opening appraisal.

His defensive stance—right foot planted behind, left lightly in front, arms shielding face and torso—spoke of experience with hand-to-hand combat, but the short reach on the first sweep and his wariness after confirmed that this wasn't his preferred style of combat. Despite that, he was sprouting a quick smile and sharp eyes reflecting blue skies; Karasuma returned a scowl.

"Wow, you're good!" Yamato readjusted his grip on the knife.

Not one for midspar banter, Karasuma merely gave a "prepare yourself" and charged.

Yamato had just enough time to firm his grasp on the knife and duck aside, but Karasuma was ready and threw a side kick where he predicted Yamato would be. But leg met arm and was abruptly pushed aside. As Karasuma pivoted to regain his balance, Yamato pressed another attack, morning sun at his back. Karasuma squinted against the glare parrying fist and knife, and cursed his inattentiveness. Then his foot caught—a clump of grass—and he just barely skirted a jab at the sternum. He rolled away to recover at a safer distance.

Karasuma wiped each of his palms in turn against his shirt. His muscles had loosened with their initial exchange, and he rolled his shoulders, ready for more.

Yamato wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow.

"Go Yamato-sensei! You can do it, Karasuma-sensei!" Karasuma spared a glance at their target, now sporting a cheerleader uniform and waving pompoms with aplomb.

A cloud passed overhead, and they both took it as the signal for another clash, meeting punch for kick in the middle of the clearing. Yamato was quickly shedding his initial caution, so Karasuma also upped his game, throwing knees and elbows between his slashes and kicks. His last roundhouse thumped solidly into Yamato's unprotected side, and he retreated with a grunt.

Karasuma was pretty sure he had pulled the kick at the last moment, but to be sure he asked, "Are you okay? If you wish—"

"No, no, Karasuma, I'm fine! We agreed to knife to the vitals, so that's how we'll have to play," Yamato straightened with a well-hidden wince and airy chuckle. "Let's go."

And Karasuma, not one to dismiss an honored adversary's wishes, tensed his legs and pounced, knife comfortable in his grasp. He had to admit he hadn't gotten such a good spar in the months since his assignment to Class 3E, and he was absolutely enjoying this match.

Yamato feigned left with a cross jab from his left hand, then followed with the knife in his right. But when Karasuma grabbed his right wrist for the finishing disarmament, the knife suddenly wasn't there. Then he saw. Yamato's knife swinging around in a graceful arc, his neck the target. An endgame move. But the execution a step too heavy, arc a bit too short, giving Karasuma just enough leeway to step inside the swing and point his knife at the heart first.

"And Karasuma-sensei wins!" Without warning, the weapons disappeared from their hands, and Yamato tensed. Realizing that it was just the octopus, he shrugged and rubbed at his side with a rumbling laugh. Karasuma too withdrew his hand and ran it through his hair; it came away drenched in sweat. The match itself was quick yet intense, and the sun, overbearing even in the early hours, was no friend.

A towel appeared in his hands, an embroidered yellow face grinning almost mockingly at him. Still, he accepted it gratefully. Yamato chortled, masking his own face with a towel bearing the target's orange 'correct'.

When they were done drying themselves, Yamato approached with an outstretched hand. "Good match, Karasuma."

Karasuma mirrored his actions and they sealed the end of their spar with a firm handshake. "Well done to you too." Then asked, "But what was that last move?"

"Oh?" Yamato's grin widened. "I just adapted one of my sword techniques, but I guess it didn't work well enough since you got me first." Knives and swords were completely different beasts to tame, yet Yamato just brushed off such a complex refitting of techniques with half a shrug.

Karasuma shook his head. This man was truly formidable. He would have liked an all-out bout against Yamato and his sword, but he supposed that would have to wait till post-assassination. It was unwise to flaunt all of one's skills in front of an enemy, and a mach-speed octopus was as close as it comes to being omnipresent.

"Wanna go again next week? Haha, that was fun. And I haven't seen you smile so wide my whole time here," Yamato glanced at him as he scrunched up his towel and pitched it to the octopus, now wearing a baseball mitt and catcher's mask.

So that explained why his cheek muscles were sore. With a nary a second though, he agreed. "It would be a pleasure."

"Sure sure, next week it is!"

And suddenly, they were swarmed by many familiar presences.

"Woooow. Karasuma-sensei, Yamato-sensei, you guys were _ama~zing_ ," Kurahashi gushed.

"Yeah, those move, those kicks and punches and dodges and everything were so cool!" Isogai added.

"Maa, maa, kids," Yamato raised a hand to stop the cascade of eager children, other hand reaching behind his head, "Karasuma and I—"

"Yamato-sensei!" Sugino suddenly shouted, "Do you play baseball?"

"Huh? Yeah! I do!"

Karasuma took the shifting attention to ease his way out of the buzzing crowd, rotating various joints so that they wouldn't stiffen later.

There was an almost imperceptible rumbling as he made his way to their bags thrown to the edge of the clearing, and he immediately cautioned his steps. But when he got closer, he realized it was just a phone on vibrate, thrown haphazardly on top of Yamato's bag. _Boss Tsuna_ , the screen read.

It must have been referring to Sawada Tsunayoshi, the Vongola Decimo of Japanese descent crowned almost a decade ago now. Karasuma had figure that Yamato must have been pretty high up in the Vongola, and the spar only confirmed as much, but the casual manner in which he addressed the young don, even if it was only a contact nickname, raised an eyebrow. But… this was also Yamato. The dense, happy-go-lucky home ec teacher who had gone _yobisute_ with his students within a day of their first meeting without anyone, not even Kataoka or Yada or Terasaka's gang, calling him out on it. It was just a part of his nature. Karasuma wouldn't put it past him to address his superiors so informally.

He took the phone and circled around the crowd with a sigh. His own boss would flay him for missing a call for such a reason as a measly _spar_ ; he had no idea what a mafia boss would do, let alone the top dog of the Italian underground. Since Yamato added a new dimension to their assassination classroom as a traditional assassin—unlike Irina's honeytrap methodology and his own preference for straightforward fights—that the kids needed in their curriculum, he'd rather not lose his coworker to such mundane error as a missed call.

"Hey Karasuma! Mind helping me herd the kids to class?" Yamato greeted when Karasuma was within shouting distance."

Karasuma took another few steps so as to not have to shout back and tossed him his phone. "Your boss." Yamato caught it, grimaced slightly at the caller ID, then easily extracted himself from the crowd leaving a mob of kids.

Karasuma then turned on the little ones with his best grin. "Be in your seats by the bell or five laps at lunch."

With a collective groan, the class scrammed.

Shrugging on his bag, Karasuma left too, not bothering to suppress his smile.

-:-:-

"Yamato-sensei!" The door banged open louder than Sugino had intended, but this was urgent business he had to get to. "Will you be our coach for the baseball game this weekend?"

"Baseball?" Yamato snapped to attention, caught in the middle of whetting of a santoku knife.

"Yeah, you said this morning that you used to play baseball and that you were watching me and Nagisa practicing before and you seem to like baseball as much as I do and could you please help us by being our coach for the game this weekend because I really want to win this even though the baseball team here is really really good but I want to do more than do my best and actually win this."

Yamato set down the knife and laughed. "Sure sure, Nagisa actually told me about it already. Now go get changed and gather everyone on the field; I'll be out in a minute." He made a shooing motion with his hand, before picking up the kitchen knife again.

Sugino ran off whooping to tell his classmates and to find Nagisa for a well-deserved fistbump.

Outside, everyone was gathered on the clearing already going through a series of stretches with Koro-sensei writhing wildly trying to untangle himself from his limbs.

"What happened to him?" Sugino asked, jerking a thumb at their oddly pathetic homeroom teacher.

Isogai attempted an upside-down shrug from his backbend. "Hi Sugino! Koro-sensei tried demonstrating multi-joint-simultaneous-rotations without any joints to speak of. But how'd the talk with Yamato-sensei go?"

He grabbed Nagisa, who was stretching his hamstrings nearby, in a friendly chokehold. "Well Nagisa here already ran it through with him previously, so all's green-lighted!"

Spluttering, Nagisa worked himself free and shook his head. "I never said anything to him about it. I thought you—" he paused, blushing slightly. "Oh."

"What is it?" Sugino gave him a nudge.

"Nagisa?" Isogai righted himself.

"Um. Well. It's nothing."

It clearly wasn't 'nothing,' so Sugino squeezed a bit harder.

Shaking his head loose, Nagisa sighed. "Terasaka-kun's group was talking about, uh, _balls_ when Yamato came around the corner, so I kind of told him about the game when he asked."

Sugino could hear the implication in his friend's tone that that wasn't the whole story. "And?" he pressed.

"And I asked hurriedly if he'd like to be our coach since he talked about liking baseball." Nagisa concluded, still not making eye contact.

That wasn't it still, and Sugino could tell that it was something pretty serious. "Nagisa, were they trying to make you do something that would hurt you again?"

By then, half the guys had stopped stretching to listen in on them and Koro-sensei had disappeared. Maehara leaned a shoulder on Isogai and asked, "so what's this about Terasaka?"

Nagisa pinked more under the attention. "Well Terasaka-kun came up with a plan to use Yamato-sensei's new sword as a guillotine, then when I said I didn't want to steal Yamato-sensei's sword, he started asking if I even had a pair. And that was about when Yamato-sensei walked in."

"Oh? So that's what that was about?"

Sugino nearly beat his high-jump record when Yamato's voice appeared behind him. Nagisa had shrunk in on himself, and Isogai was rubbing at his jaw where Maehara must have elbowed him in surprise.

"Yamato-sensei? When'd you get here?" Maehara shook out his arm, seeming to have hit his funny bone.

"Really sensei, you have to teach us that ninja sneaking thing of your some time." Isogai added.

In a short five minutes, Yamato had changed into a Yakult Swallows t-shirt and long shorts, two sports bags slung over his shoulder. When he chuckled that carefree chuckle of his, Sugino could almost forget that this sensei was a top assassin, mistaking him instead for another baseball fanatic fresh out of college.

Yamato patted the two on the head. "Sure thing. And if you wanted to borrow the sword, all you had to do was ask."

Nagisa blushed again, and Sugino, aware of his friend's dislike of the spotlight, turned the back to the topic of the day. "So baseball."

"Yup! Everyone stretched and ready?" Yamato dropped his bags to the ground.

Everyone glanced around to confirm, and Chiba nudged at Sugaya, who seemed in the middle of some sort of interpretive dance-stretch. With everyone firmly on board, the class chorused, "Yes, sir!"

"All right then! Three laps, let's go!"

Kimura raised a hand. "But sensei, we're already warmed up."

Yamato glanced around. "Then Kimura, you can go find Karma and the rest of the class can follow me!"

-:-:-

" _Sensei…_ it's been three hours already…"

"Oh? Haha! I didn't realize!"

"Sensei… how are you not tired?"

"Hm? Why would I be tired?"

"Because," Maehara growled, "the whole class— _including you, Sensei_ —has been doing suicides for the past half-hour. And the half hour before that was push ups. And before that—"

"Maehara-kun. I'm sorry, it was my fault for asking him," Sugino panted. "Our teachers are all monsters."

"Except Bitch-sensei," Takebayashi offered from the sidelines he'd retired to half an hour in. Something about 'a weak disposition' or the like.

"Except Bitch-sensei," the class intoned.

"I thought Irina-sensei tried to smooch you guys on a daily basis," Yamato said, breathing only as if he'd had a light warm-up jog. Well, it wasn't as if Karma was _that_ winded either.

A brief silence and a visible shiver swept through the field as repressed memories of stolen first kisses crept up from their collective unconscious. But Karma, who could care less about kisses and those other romancy things, wondered instead upon the intrigue of Yamato-sensei. Baseball practice wasn't high on Karma's list of things to do, but led by Yamato-sensei… huh. He was a seemingly ordinary man built more on secrets than on bones, and such people had always intrigued Karma.

"That's… unfortunately true," Isogai said seconds later in a small voice.

"So is everyone less winded now? Because stretching time," Yamato cheerfully tugged Nagisa, the nearest student, to his feet. Karma considered his jellyish legs and shrugged, easing himself upright. He had to get up eventually, and he would not allow himself to be thought of as weak. Soon enough, with various croaks and creaks, the rest of the boys followed. "Sugino, why don't you lead the team in cooldown exercises?"

"Yes, sir!" Sugino called, tired but clearly ecstatic after all that training. Because surely at the rate they were going, they'd match the octopus in speed within months.

"Ok then! I'll leave it to you and go discuss strategy with Koro-sensei. You're there, aren't you, Koro-sensei?" He turned toward the roof and waved, and sure enough, their yellow octopus appeared before them.

"Nurufufufu. Truly admirable perception you have there, Yamato-sensei."

"Ahaha," Yamato rubbed the back of his neck, "thanks!" To the class, he added, "You're dismissed when you're done—meaning no skimping on cooldowns, ok?"

As soon as Yamato-sensei and Koro-sensei were out of range, Karma shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away too.

Mafia hitman, skilled assassin, amiable teacher. Dark at times. Something about a 'vongola' or 'bongola' he'd overheard Karasuma-sensei tell Bitch-sensei. Can't math. Baseball fanatic. Excellent cook. Boss Tsuna. Japanese. Travels the world. Misplaces his phone at least once a day. Swordsman. Thinks 'water' is an element on the periodic table. Knew about Koro-sensei before coming here. Magic bags. Part time ninja. Classy outfits worn casually. Mouthwatering sushi. Reclines under the great oak everyday at noon to watch the clouds go by. Not fazed by rain. Clothes always clean and crisp.

Somehow, what he knows doesn't seem add up to a whole Yamato Takashi. Karma's got about three-fourths the picture, he feels most days. But then there's the rare instances when his face goes long with longing or his eyes tint briefly blue with bloodlust as they did this morning and Karma feels then that he's got less than half his person figured out. The only one who's remained more of a mystery is Koro-sensei who's practically an alien. But Koro-sensei is open about his secrets—everyone knows he has them even if they don't know what they are. Yamato, though. Bottles up the little things he want to hide and buries them deep. Appears absolutely normal.

As for Karma? He's got nothing to hide. His job is to dig up them little secrets of others. For knowledge, as the old saying goes, is power.

It's research time.

* * *

A/N: Heh. It's been a while. But look! Things are moving along! I was tempted to title this chapter _Gasp, There's an Inkling of Plot? Time_

And look! I attempted a fight scene! Gasp! (Though I'm not very satisfied with how it turned out... but gasp! It's there!)

Ha. Shamefully admits I'm just trying to distract you from the fact this chapter came three months after the previous update :/

Much thanks to **Psycho-Ninja27** for his/her/its offering of baseball knowledge that will (hopefully) be well utilized the next chapter. When it comes out... soon? (perhaps before the start of school? ugh. college.)

Now to figure out where this plot will go... hmm... *bows head in shame and cries* I have no idea where this is gonna go. Hopefully somewhere good? Cuz I'm dragging you all with me, wherever this ends up.

***Actually, let me ask you guys. Would you prefer the thus far slice-of-life-ish stories of Class E and co so far, or should I throw in the Vongola/mafia-related side plot I've been thinking of? The 2nd would give more glimpses into the lives of the KHR cast, especially the ones too busy to fly all the way to Japan***

See ya next chapter!

God Bless,

TreeCat

7/13/2016


	6. Question Time

We're All Hitmen Here

 _Chapter 6: Question Time_

AKA _This is Not Abandoned Time_. So here, have some words. Words are good for you.

Disclaimer: I have not acquired the licence for either KHR or AC in my absence, so continue enjoying this nonprofit fic.

* * *

—Yo Tsuna! What's up?

—Hey Yamamoto, how've you been?

—I've been great! Baseball training right now.

—Oh? That's nice.

—Yeah, so whatcha got for me?

—Mm, I trust you've heard about the recent insurgencies about Namimori?

—I have. What about them? Isn't Hibari on the case now?

—Yeah, things are mostly under control, and we've managed to catch the leader of the riots just yesterday.

—That's good to hear.

—But he's not giving with Hibari.

—Really? That's rare.

—Well… the thing is that he's still young.

—Young?

—17.

—Fwoo, I see. So you've got Hibari off the clock and want me to go and tease out answers?

—Yeah, well, that is, if you're not too busy.

—Haha, sure thing, Boss!

—And, um, Yamamoto. One more thing.

—Hm?

—This… well, how do I say this…

—What's up?

—It's just that, er. Your dad came up in this investigation—I mean, it's kind of iffy how he relates, but well… I guess I thought you should know.

—...

—Yamamoto?

—Got it. I'll be over this afternoon.

-:-:-

The temperature dipped and Karma casually looked around to find the source. Like him and Kimura, many of the guys were partnered up to play catch in the outfield. Then there was Takebayashi, who sat behind his computer in the bleachers, and Nagisa, who crouched in his mask behind home plate, facing—there it was, the epicenter of the radiating chill—the pitcher's mound. With Sugino safely a few steps away, Yamato-sensei stood with ball in hand, eyes steely cold like a blade pressed against the back of one's neck. Karma felt his hair prickle, and he lowered his mitt to watch.

Yamato threw.

Barely traceable, the ball flew. Even Karma couldn't follow it. Then a blink later, Nagisa was sitting on the floor, shaking out his wrist. The field was suddenly silent. All heads had turned when they caught something zipping past the corner of their vision. Then Takebayashi stood, glasses nearly sliding down his nose, and squawked, "168.2! Th-that's nearly world record speed!"

Hmm. Karma turned the number over in his head. It was absolutely sluggish compared to Koro-sensei's 300 km/hr throws, but the sheer fact that Yamato-sensei was _human_ and managed a pitch like that… interesting.

Yamato scratched the back of his head, "Haha, oopsies." And just like that, all traces of the pervading cold fell away, and Yamato was Yamato again—their goofy teacher and happy-go-lucky coach.

So very interesting. He really needed to know what transpires in that seemingly airy head of his sensei's.

Karma chuckled and stepped forward with a predatory grin. "Wow, our Sensei's a big-time pro, isn't he, pitching like the stars in the Major League. With all his talent, he could easily be raking in millions, yet here he is, training the likes of us. For what, ten billion yen?"

Yamato laughed lightly, "Just a part of the job."

"The job of killing Koro-sensei, right? As part of the mafia Vongola _famiglia_?" Yamato's eyebrows raised as Karma continued forward. "Come on now, don't be surprised at how the teachers here gossip. And besides, everyone who even peeks into the underground world knows about the Vongola, the biggest crime syndicate in the West, and soon the East too, but no one knows who you are, Yamato-sensei. Not Karasuma-sensei, not Bitch-sensei, and by the looks of it, not even our all-knowing Koro-sensei." At the foot of the pitcher's mound, Karma cocked his head up at his sensei, thudding a baseball into his glove. "You are a mystery, Sensei, as I'm sure you know."

Yamato, now bearing an amused expression, stepped off the mound and slung an arm around Karma's shoulders, squeezing just tightly enough that Karma couldn't twist out of his grip. "I guess so!" He gave a playful wink. "Are you really that interested 'bout me?"

With a scoff, Karma pushed Yamamoto's arm away and extracted himself from his hold. "Of course. You're a funhouse of mirrors. We see you bumbling; we see you sharp. Who wouldn't want to see the true you, free of distorted truths?"

"Hm? So it's like a game?" Yamato said, nonplussed.

There it was again: to Sensei, nothing was ever more than a game. "Exactly."

Resting his hand on his chin, Yamato paused. Then he said, "It won't be easy, you know."

"Oh yes, I know," Karma said. The greatest challenges payed off with the greatest rewards, after all.

But Yamato wasn't done. "Tell you what, if Boss approves, I'll tell Karasuma to give you his files on me if you win this weekend's game. To say sorry in advance, since I'll be gone the rest of this week."

Ignoring Sugino's outcry from beside him, Karma gave it some thought. If Yamato was so readily offering the file, it probably didn't contain much relevant information, especially since Karasuma-sensei hadn't even pieced together who Yamato was. Who knew, maybe he was assigning himself a Sisyphean task. But that was of no matter. Karma bared his teeth in a facsimile of a grin. "The handicap isn't necessary, but I'll hold you to your word, Yamato-sensei."

"Okay! Deal." Then Yamato clapped his hands and addressed the whole field, "Clean up time! Class in twenty!"

Confident that he'd won this exchange, Karma turned away, about to shirk off cleaning duty. Soon as he thought he'd escaped Yamato's line of sight, though, Yamato spoke again. "So why the interest?"

Karma turned back and shrugged. "You're an interesting man." A simple truth.

"Haha, I understand that."

It was a response as cryptic as the man, and this time, Karma couldn't help the genuine grin that pulled at his face.

-:-:-

"You're late, herbivore," Hibari snarled. He wedged a tonfa under the Rain's throat that forced him against the wall. He did not appreciate tardiness, especially to an evening meeting when he could've better spent the time napping on the roof.

Hibird fluttered overhead. "Late! Late!" he chirped.

Hibari let Yamamoto push his tonfa away. Best to get this meeting over with quickly while the sun was still out. "Sorry, Hibari-senpai." That trademark herbivore grin. Annoying.

He sat back behind his desk, dismissing Tetsu to bring tea. Chamomile, preferably, if he had to deal with this herbivore for the next while. He slid a manila folder over as Yamamoto sat. "Sakurai-kai, Sato Yukisuke. Locate his second."

As a young boss of a young gang, the pathetic herbivore felt the need to bare his clunky teeth at the world, and did so through a series of arsons that escalated to outright robberies on Vongola's front door. Hibari's territory, which was unacceptable. That was when he finally ignored Sawada's cries for peace and rallied the gang up. They captured Sato and his most of forces minus the second-in-command a few days ago at their hideout in the outskirts of Kokuyo Land, where scum tend to accumulate.

The little herbivore was smart, to an extent, and arrogant in the way only teens without a healthy fear of carnivores knew to be. But there wasn't enough cleverness in his words or actions that could lead Hibari to believe the runt had organized most of the recent destruction himself.

Having gleaned all that he could from the herbivore without touching a hair on his head, he was to entrust the rest of the questioning to the Rain and his herbivore _subtlety_. The fact that Tsunayoshi still believed violence didn't solve all problems made Hibari snort. He could have squashed the answers from the pompous boy in seconds.

Tetsu came back with a tray of tea, and Yamamoto glanced up from the files. "So what have you gotten out of this kid so far?"

Hibari lifted the pot and poured, waiting for Tetsu to answer. The distinct tang of bitter orange and chrysanthemum wafted through the air. Not chamomile, but it would do.

It didn't take long for Tetsu to get the hint. Hibari smiled. He had trained a good subordinate. "Kyo-san has the forced cooperation of the lower ranks, who know nothing of much use, and has either driven them away or integrated them into the Disciplinary Committee's ranks." Stupid herbivores. They still hadn't been weaned of their crowding behavior. "As for Sato Yukisuke, he has stubbornly refused to cooperate despite the fact that most of his men have turned on him. We have concluded that he has a greater fear of something, or someone, other than us, and that other is likely his second, who we believe to be Tatsuo Matteo, a Japanese-Italian recently released from Italian custody."

"Tatsuo Matteo," Yamamoto repeated. "He sounds familiar."

"The Deed," Hibari said. He sipped his tea as he watched Yamamoto's eyes flicker, connecting mental dots in that strange apparatus he called a brain.

" _L'atte_ ," Yamamoto echoed in heavily accented Italian. "Wasn't he the bastard cousin of the Barato boss? He was released already?"

When Hibari opted not to answer, Tetsu continued. "After Sawada-san left him to the police, Tatsuo sold out his boss and cousin in exchange for a lighter sentence of eight years. He got out early for good behaviour and a believed bribe. He left for America soon after his release, and from there he came to Japan—his father's home country—some time before the moon incident."

"And he joined the Sakurai-kai then?" Yamamoto asked.

"We assume so."

"You think he was using the Sakurai-kai?"

"We believe so."

"Has he been in contact with any other organization?"

"We are in the process of finding out."

Yamamoto's long fingers tapped a steady beat on the desk. "And my dad?" he asked, slowly.

"Still dead," Hibari snapped, tired of these useless questions. The old man was dead and his son was here to do his job and collect answers _from the prisoner_ , not crowd in his office for some meaningless debrief.

Yamamoto stilled, fingers raised mid-tap. A warm wind blew in through the window, and Hibird shifted in Hibari's hair. Then Yamamoto's lips thinned into a dark smile—and there were his fangs. Good. "Thank you for the reminder, Senpai." He tossed the rest of his tea back like some cheap whiskey, making Hibari snarl at the blatant disrespect, and set the empty cup down none too gently. "Sato Yukisuke. I'll be sure he spills."

The chair let a hideous squeak as Yamamoto stood, slinging his wrapped sword over his shoulder and picking up his bag. Hibari took another sip of his tea before rising as well.

The sun was already dipping past the horizon. There was no time for a nap before his twilight patrol, but—he examined the man before him, how the scarlet light cast a certain feralness in his eyes and framed a bloody halo about the set of his jaw—there was always time for a spar. He drew his tonfa.

Something shifted in Yamamoto's eyes as he caught Hibari's movement. A reigning in of bloodlust in exchange for brutal curiosity, an itch to cross steel with steel tempered by that herbivore mentality of holding back, taming himself. Hibari couldn't stand it. The Rain had fangs and claws, _urges_ to be the carnivore he was. Sawada, who held his leash, wasn't even here. In the presence of a fellow carnivore who clearly demanded a fight, why slink back and hide who he was?

Sensing Hibari tense, Hibird fluttered off to orbit Tetsu. Hibari lunged, vaulting over his desk with feline grace. He aimed a volley of strikes, each of which Yamamoto dodged until his back was to the wall and a tonfa was wedged beneath his chin, an echo of how this meeting had started.

Yamamoto clearly recognized the pattern as well, and he slumped a bit, not relaxing entirely, but not resisting either. "Sorry, Senpai, but not today, okay? I've just got some stuff to do and think about tonight."

There was something more to his holding back today than usual. Something melancholy that had to do with his father. There was Takesushi, which he must have passed by on the way from the station, a haunt of ghosts and memories, a stark reminder of happier times and symbol of things not right. There was that, but that wasn't the extent of it.

No, Yamamoto ached for a fight. That was a fact. Action ran through his veins, and he loved the rush of adrenaline as much as Hibari did. But the wilderness usually so present in him was subdued by some sort of fear today. Hibari was struck by a sudden thought—"Herbivore," he hissed. He raised his other tonfa to swipe with renewed fury.

Yamamoto's eyes flew wide as he dropped into a duck. "Hold on, Senpai!"

Hibari wouldn't relent. No one looked at him like that, as if they could accidentally _hurt_ him. He was a carnivore and this was his territory. He would not stand for any sort of condescension. Maybe Yamamoto was in an unstable state, liable to swing too hard or with the wrong end of his blade in a moment of passion, but Hibari was Hibari. He had his tonfa and his teeth and could handle himself just fine.

He swung again, this time shattering some cheap vase as Yamamoto stepped aside, raising and slipping out the window. Hibari followed, landing in a crouch in the grass and leaving Tetsu to clean up the mess above.

A shadow fell at his feet, and he squinted up against the sinking sun to see Yamamoto, still weaponless. "Please," he said. "Don't make me." His eyes begged, fierce and desperate, just daring Hibari to administer his discipline.

Hibari stood. "Draw your weapon before I bite you to death."

Yamamoto didn't move.

"Herbivore," Hibari ground out, "You _cannot_ hurt me." That was all the warning he gave before continuing his assault. There was no room for such scrimpy carnivores on the grounds of Nami Middle.

And just like that, something must have registered in his haze of thoughts. Yamamoto skipped back and drew his sword, settling so casually into a fighting stance. His eyes sharpened, and his whole being seemed to come into focus. Yes, Hibari thought, this was more like it. Here was the wolf stepping out of the sheep's wool.

They clashed again and again, engaged in a dance of steel and sweat as the world swirled about them. Yamamoto sliced, and Hibari parried. Hibari charged, and Yamamoto countered. Exchange after exchange, until the sun had sunk and the shadows darkened. When they finally drew apart, each heaving deep breaths and aching with new bruises, they regarded each other again.

"Thanks," Yamamoto said, breaking the silence that had fallen. There was a sense of balance and rightness in him again, Hibari decided with satisfaction. No more idle stewing on the likes of Sato or Tatsuo or his long-dead father. What happened had happened, and all that was needed now was to beat the sense into the future.

A streetlight flickered just outside the main gate. Hibari growled. Just when one problem was properly resolved, another arose. With one last muttered "herbivore" tossed to reaffirm his lesson, Hibari stalked off to address the misbehaving lamp.

* * *

A/N: Wow, an update! I'm alive! And plot! And Hibird! Lookee that. But yeah, this fic has been swimming in the back of my mind for the past while *cough*year*cough*, and I don't have any (good) excuse for not writing. So... sorry, I guess.

But 400+ favs and 500+ follows. Almost 1000 views per month. That means people are still reading (and liking) this. Wow. That's a lot of pressure for me to write and write well. But go you guys. Thanks for sticking through.

Fun fun, that's all for now. Hope and pray for another chappie soon. And have a good day/night.

God Bless,

TreeCat

7/7/2017


End file.
